Carry On My Wayward Son
by Lovingcsfanfiction
Summary: AU where Emma and Killian are long-term hospital roommates. Trigger Warnings: cancer and death.


_Once I rose above the noise and confusion_  
 _Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion_  
 _I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high_

—

It's Thursday when she gets him as a roommate. She's been in the hospital for almost a month with no end in sight when the staff rolls him into her room. The head nurse tells her they are in a bind, that there is no other option, and that he is in a coma anyway. He isn't going to wake up anytime soon, and she promises it won't be any different from being alone, anyway.

She reluctantly agrees, not that she really has a choice.

—

She's still awake at 2:00 in the morning, although that's typical nowadays. The shooting pain in her side keeps her from a single peaceful moment, but the doctor refuses to give her anything stronger. She squeezes her eyes shut and places her right hand upon her lower stomach, pressing and massaging the spot until the pain dulls.

She looks over at the man across from her, sleeping. She's envious of him right now, not able to feel anything because he's unconscious. Of course she knows she shouldn't be jealous of that, that being alive and awake is a blessing at all for her, but pain makes it hard to think rationally.

"You lucky son of a bitch," she grits out, spitting the words at him as if it's his fault she's in such pain. She doesn't really know this man, the nurse never even told her his name, but she has no one else to place her discomfort on at the moment, no one else who will listen to her pleas.

The man across doesn't move, doesn't flinch at her words, and he doesn't snap back.

—

The nurse comes in to check her vitals the next day. She asks how she's feeling, whether the pain is better or worse than the previous day, if the room is too hot or cold. She replies how she always does, telling her that it's the same as it is every day, not any better. The nurse seems to accept this answer, telling her to just page the nurses' station if she needs anything, and that an intern will be back soon with her breakfast. She then goes to the other side of the room and adjusts the man's blankets, sighing as she walks out, mumbling how "it's such a shame".

She looks at the ceiling for a while, then out the window, before settling on the man across the room. "What are you in for?" she asks, even though she knows he won't respond. She studies him for a moment, noticing for the first time that his left arm is bandaged about seven inches higher than his right, that it is missing a hand altogether. She tips her head at his arm. "How'd that happen?"

He still doesn't move, the only sounds in the room coming from both of their breathing tubes.

She turns her head back to the side to look out the window, her eyes following a white bird flying away from the hospital.

—

When her nurse comes back that afternoon, she asks for his name, just to know something about her new roommate. The nurse says they don't know, that he was barely alive when he came in, that he's known as "John Doe" in the hospital.

It makes her heart sink just a tiny bit, thinking that he doesn't have a name.

After the nurse leaves, she looks at the man. "You don't look like a John," she mumbles, staring at his jet-black hair and stubbly beard. "Derek." She closes her eyes. "You look like a Derek."

—

Once she begins her second month at the hospital, she decides to make up his back-story, where he's from, what he's like. It gives her something to do, since the TV is broken, and the repairman hasn't come to fix it yet.

"You must be a writer," she cocks her head, looking at his still body. "Or a lawyer…" She decides he's from Boston, that he graduated top of his class from Harvard Law, that he likes to bike and go to coffee shops, that he's still a bachelor because he moves around a lot.

She tries to imagine what his eyes look like. Surely they're a brownish-hazel. He looks like he'd have brownish-hazel eyes.

—

"I miss my job," she admits one evening as she braids the hair she has left. She's gotten good at it over the past few months, with a limited amount of activities she can do in her condition. "I was a bails bondsman—woman. I was good at it, too. My boss used to send me on all the hard cases. I wonder who she sends now? Probably Elsa. She was pretty good, too. I was going to be up for a promotion, did you know that, Derek? My boss was going to recommend me for the position before I came here. Hopefully the job's still mine if I ever get out of here."

She stops her hands at the thought, running her fingers through her hair and making it straight again.

And taking a chunk out with it.

—

"I hate being here, Derek," she cries on one of those nights she can't fall asleep. "I'm not getting any better, and I feel like I'm just waiting to die." She shakes her head and looks down at her hands massaging her belly in that place that just didn't stop hurting. "Why did this happen to me?" She stares at him, watching his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. "Sometimes I wish…I wish…" but she doesn't finish the sentence.

It's one thing to think the dark thoughts, but it's another to admit it to another person.

Even if that other person is in a coma and can't hear what she's saying.

—

It's weird, this friendship she's developed with Derek. She knows he doesn't understand what she's saying, that he doesn't know where he is or that she's in the room with, but it's nice having someone to talk to, who will listen to her problems and help her through the pain. She's never had a real friend before, and she kind of likes the feeling of having someone always there for her.

She talks about her days, reminisces about her childhood, admits her biggest secrets and regrets, because he listens and he doesn't judge her.

Plus, since he's asleep, he can't let her down.

—

"God, Derek, your breathing tube is so loud!" Emma nearly screams it at her roommate, only censoring herself because the door is open. She crosses her arms and slumps down in the bed.

It's not really about the noise, though. The pain has been increasing lately, and she's become more irritable. She asks the doctor for more pain meds and, while he orders them, they aren't helping like they had in the beginning. She must have developed some sort of immunity to them, and it's getting harder and harder to control her anger.

She wants to throw something at him, or slap him. It's their first fight, even if it really isn't a fight at all. And she just wants to get out of there, wants to take a break from this life, but she can't. It doesn't work like that for her anymore.

So she settles on yelling at Derek, since it's the only thing she can really do.

—

She feels bad about her outburst later, apologizing to the man and asking for his silent forgiveness.

—

The nurse tells her one morning that a spare room has opened up, and that she can be moved to a more private location. She immediately declines, claiming she likes the view and that she's gotten comfortable in this space, that they should save the room for someone else who needs it more than she.

Really, she wants to stay with Derek. He makes her feel better, and she can't imagine going back to how it was before, when she was alone.

The nurse lets her stay, and she can't help the smile that forms on her face as she takes a cut-up piece of cantaloupe and shoves it in her mouth. "You're still stuck with me," she sings, imagining him responding by rolling his brownish-hazel eyes.

—

She listens as they remove the bandage from his left arm, the doctor saying the skin has healed and there is no longer a concern for infection. The team leaves the room and gives her a slight nod on their way out, closing the door after she requests it.

She stares at the stump, seeing the jagged lines scarred. She swallows, and her heart begins to ache. She hates the idea of Derek being in pain, and she hates the idea that he's lost a hand. Not because she doesn't accept him, because she really couldn't care less about him missing a limb, but because he's sleeping and he doesn't even know that he's now one-handed, and that maybe he was a lefty and won't ever be able to write again.

Her own pain dulls slightly as she thinks of his.

—

She hears a cough from the other side of the room, and Emma's eyes open wide. It's the middle of the night, and she was trying to fall asleep, but it was definitely a cough. Derek definitely coughed.

She buzzes the nurses' station and a nurse comes running in, asking what's wrong and what does she need to make it go away. She points to Derek and explains that he's coughed – that he's finally waking up. The nurse mutters how it's impossible, but walks over to the other side, anyway. She looks at the machines, looks at him, and shakes her head at her, telling her she must have been dreaming.

The nurse leaves, reminding her to call the station if she needs anything.

She still looks at Derek across the room, positive that she heard the cough coming from him. But, when alls she hears is the soft beeping of their heart monitors and the quiet puffs of air coming every few moments, she decides that maybe she was wrong.

—

It's two days before something happens again. His hand moves slightly and he bunches some blanket in his hand. Emma's eyes are blown wide as she watches his movement, slamming hard on the nurses' button again.

By the time the nurse gets there, his hand has relaxed, and he's the same, comatose John Doe that the rest of the hospital knows.

Even if she knows Derek is trying to wake up.

—

She's eating her lunch and watching TV when Derek's eyes flutter open. He jumps in the bed, scaring her and making her drop her knife and fork. He's looking around their surroundings before looking down at himself, his face frowning when he sees he's in a hospital gown. He reaches for something with his left hand and notices it missing, and he begins to scream.

"Shh! Shh! It's okay!" She tries to soothe him, pressing the nurses' line. He finally settles his eyes on her, and her breath is taken away.

All these weeks, she's pictured Derek to have those brownish-hazel eyes.

Instead, they are a deep blue, like the ocean, shining back at her.

She likes the blue more.

—

After the nurses and doctors examine Derek, praising his luck and explaining how he has come to be, his curtain is pulled back and they look at each other, really look, for the first time, neither knowing what to say. She swallows, knowing this is the big moment, that either Derek was going to be the man she has grown to care for, or just like every other man she's ever known.

"I'm Emma," she murmurs, suddenly shy. It's like she's finally meeting him for the first time, despite spending the last two months with him right across the room.

His frown deepens, but he still answers. "I'm Killian," he answers, and she decides that name suits him far more than Derek ever did. "It seems like we've been roommates for quite some time, I apologize for my rudeness—I didn't mean to ignore you."

She gives a small smile at that, and she loves how his voice sounds. She had pictured a strong Boston accent, not a British one, and she was completely off with the pitch. "You've actually been a delight – I haven't had to report any noise complaints."

He laughs at that, and she can't help thinking that she wants to hear that sound for the rest of her life.

Suddenly, she hopes it's much longer than what she prayed for last night.

—

"So, what are you in for?" Killian asks her one afternoon over lunch.

She sighs, pushing her TV tray forward, suddenly all appetite gone. "I was diagnosed with leukemia about a month before you became my roommate. Unfortunately, it was pretty far along when I finally came in, and…" she shrugs. "We'll see."

Killian nods his head. "We'll see."

"What happened to you?"

Killian stared down at his stump. "It seems like I was in an accident, and I lost my hand because of it. It was a hit and run, so we don't even know who did this to me."

"I'm sorry…"

"Me, too."

—

"So, if you grew up in London, then how did you end up here?" she asks, wanting to know everything about Killian. As much as she liked Derek, she found this special connection with Killian, even if it was just a few short days knowing the actual man across from her. He makes her smile, something her face has long forgotten since coming here.

"My brother joined the navy and was stationed in the United States for years. When I turned of legal age, I hopped across the sea to join him."

"He must be worried sick about you – you've been in that coma for nearly three months and they had no way to contact him!" she said, but when a shadow casts over his face, she knows she said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, I didn't…" But, she doesn't even know what she's apologizing for, so she settles for fumbling with the remote and turning on the TV. "Wheel of Fortune?" she asks, not quite looking at his blue eyes, but still asking him the question.

"I'm surprised you still agree to watch that show with me, since I always beat you."

"Ha, ha," she's sarcastic, and their playful banter is back.

—

She finds out later that his brother is dead, along with his mother and father, and she realizes that her own life story, the one she keeps hidden from the world, isn't something she needs to hide.

She tells him about the orphanages, the group homes, the foster families. She tells him about Neal, about prison, about what makes her who she is. He listens to it all, asking questions in all the right places and nodding in sympathy when appropriate. And so, for the first time in her life, she's told someone her whole story, not leaving out a single detail.

Well, the second time, but that night she told Derek doesn't count.

—

Sometimes, he cries out Milah's name in the middle of the night. She doesn't know who she is, but every time she hears it come out of his mouth, it's like another slash to her heart. How could she be jealous of a woman she doesn't even know? In fact, for all she knows, she could just be some friend from London or the name of his pet rabbit.

But something about how he calls out for her seems like she was more to him, and that thought hurts.

She doesn't like realizing what that specific pain in her heart means.

She refuses to believe she's falling in love with him.

—

It's only a few short weeks before Killian has been cleared to leave. His vitals are good, there was no brain damage from the coma, and he's been fitted for a prosthetic hand. There was really no need for him to be there anymore.

Her heart squeezes as she heard him dress in regular clothes for the first time in months. This is it, this is her final moments with Killian, and she can't help the tears that have fallen from her face.

She isn't even envious that he gets to leave while she's still stuck in the bed. She's actually happy for him, and she really wants what is best for him.

But, she also can't help but feel saddened that he's leaving her, like so many other people in her past have.

He pulls the curtain back, and her heart breaks even more. "Lookin' good, Jones," she says, but her voice is off and she knows it, and she knows he knows it, too.

Killian scratches behind his right ear, something she finds is incredibly cute and so him ever since the first time she saw it. "Thanks, Swan." She can't help but think that his voice sounds off, too. "I guess…"

"You're free," she says, plastering on a smile. "What are you going to do first?"

He stares at her, and she tries to memorize every single thing about him, from the way he stands, to the tennis shoes he's chosen to wear, to the exact color of his blue eyes. "Probably get a haircut," he jokes, and even though it's such a sad moment, she laughs.

He walks over to her and takes her hand for the first time. He then moves his hand up to her face and strokes it with his only thumb, and she closes her eyes, wanting to keep him by her side forever.

"Thank you, Killian. You got me out of a really tough time in my life," she replies. "Even if you didn't know it."

One side of his cheek pulls up. "I'm glad Derek provided you with some comfort," he teases, gently pulling his hand back.

She slowly raises her eyes to meet his for the last time. "I'll miss you."

"Aye, me too." With a final look, he turns around and starts walking out of the room, exiting without another word.

Once he's gone, she picks up the first thing she can find – the remote – and throws it across the room. She leans back on the bed, finally letting the tears fall down her face, the ones that she didn't want Killian to see.

She was alone.

The pain she felt before knowing him was nothing compared to what she is feeling now. She tries to turn to her side and catch her breath, but her body was having a tough time with it. In defeat, she places her hand on her forehead, counting to 10 over and over again, hoping it will soothe the pain and calm her body down.

She hears the door opening, and she thinks it's time for her to go to chemo, so she wipes her eyes with her hospital gown and begins turning to get ready for the wheelchair ride. She stills when she sees who is actually standing there.

Killian stands there for only a second before he's taking three strides to stand by her bed. He takes his right hand and his prosthetic hand and places it on each side of her cheek, then leans down and pulls her up so they can meet in a kiss.

It's urgent and needy, and she would be lying if she didn't admit she's been thinking about this moment since he was wheeled into her room all those months ago. She likes the way he tastes, the way his mouth moves over hers, how he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip. Eventually, they break to take a breath, but he keeps his forehead upon hers. "I've been wanting to do that for a while," he says before leaning back.

Emma is too stunned to know what to say.

"I'm sorry, Swan, that was way out of line—" Killian turns to leave the room again, but stops when Emma yells for him to wait.

From the doorway, he turns around slowly, silently asking her if she wants what he wants. She nods her head, and he's back by her side, peppering kisses across her face.

"I have to go–my buddy Will is here to pick me up. But I'll be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…"

"Promise?" She asks, letting herself give in to the hope he has suddenly provided her with. After all these months, after all these years, her whole life, she shouldn't feel this way about his vow.

He answers with another kiss, and she can't help thinking he's telling the truth.

—

He wasn't lying when he said he'd come visit.

Sometimes, he'd come for lunch and stay through the afternoon, other times, he remembers when she leaves for chemo and came with to hold her hand. Regardless of the time, he's always there, and she loves him for it.

—

He's tying her bandana on her head the day her final patch of hair falls out. He then holds up a mirror for her. "See? Not bad." He says, smiling at her. His eyes look at her with such love, and she just doesn't know why.

She brings her hand up and pushes the hand mirror away. "I don't want you to see me like this. I want you to remember how it felt to run your hand through my hair."

Killian shakes his head. "If you're allowed to like me when I only have one hand, I'm allowed to like you with no hair. It's a two way street, Love."

Emma sighs and presses the button to lower her bed, turning her face away from him and looking outside. "I'm tired," she lies, and he probably knows she's lying, too. But, like always, he respects her wishes, placing a small kiss on her forehead and promising to come back tomorrow.

And she knows he will.

—

She can't even remember how long it's been since she's been outside. She decided to stop counting, since it was a moot point, anyway. She's been stuck in the same two rooms – her hospital room and the chemo room – for such a long time, and there's still no end in sight.

She admits this to Killian one day, how she's forgotten what it feels like to have sunlight on her skin, or the smell of just-after-rain. She sighs and rests her head back on the pillow, and he excuses himself to the bathroom.

Minutes later, he comes back with a wheelchair. "Get in, Swan," he hisses and motions for her to get up and out. "We won't have long before they come and catch us."

"You can't be serious, Kill—"

"I'm very serious. Get in before I pick you up myself, and I won't stop myself from tickling that certain spot I know you hate." She lets out a breath, but uses all her energy to sit up and push her legs over the bed. It's been months since she's walked – doesn't even know if she could do it anymore. When she puts a shaky leg on the floor, she almost falls, but his arms are there to catch her and make sure she's okay.

He gently places her in the chair and pushes her towards the door, looking both ways in the doorway and booking it towards the elevator. He presses "G" and, before she knows what is happening, she's rolling outside in the hospital gardens.

She laughs as he pushes her around, making up names for the different types of flowers and calling himself a botanist. "You're an idiot," she says through her laughs.

"You love it," he says, and suddenly his face drops.

She thinks about it often, but she never says it out loud. He reaches behind his head and scratches that spot that must be raw from the constant abuse. "I…"

"I do," she nearly whispers, and he looks up at her.

"You… you do?" he asks, needing the verification.

She nods her head, just waiting for him to say it back, hoping he says it back.

"I love you," he says back, and suddenly he's kissing her, and she's kissing him, and even though they are outside, it feels like they're the only two people there.

They continue their walk around the garden, and everything feels different.

—

"I brought you a grilled cheese sandwich from the cafeteria, just the way you like it."

"Fries?"

"Onion rings."

"Good, I was just testing you."

—

They're sitting on the bed together when they start kissing, and she can't help but think how much she loves the feeling of his lips upon her own.

Slowly, he rolls them over until he's hovering above her, and he's still kissing her and her heart is beating harder than it probably should. He leans back to look at her face. "Is this okay?" he asks.

She nods her head.

"I'm not hurting you?"

She shakes her head.

And he leans back down to take her lips again.

Clothes never come off, they're in a hospital, but it still feels like they made love when he finally rolls off her, both of them panting, and it makes her more determined than ever to get out of here and begin a life with him.

—

She's frowning when he comes to visit her one night, and immediately, he's by her side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, unwilling to answer him, not even sure she could if she wanted to.

"Don't do this, don't leave me out," he warns her. "Don't push me away," he pleads, and when his voice cracks, she does, too.

"The doctor visited me today," she says, and because her face his so sad, she knows he knows it wasn't good news. "He said that they've tried everything, and no treatment is working, and… And experimental treatments are out of the question… And…"

She feels him bring her into a bear hug, and she lets the tears flow again. "Emma," he whispers while he begins stroking her back. "Emma," he says again, as if saying it more than once will change her fate.

She feels his shirt become wet underneath her eyes, and it's only then that she knows she's crying. "I'm so sorry," she mutters. "I couldn't…"

Killian pulls back, her chest aching as she sees the red rims around his eyes and the tears streaming down his face. "I love you," he says, kissing her. "Marry me, please."

She scoffs, shaking her head. "Killian…"

"I love you. Marry me, please." He says again, and his voice is catching in his throat. "I love you. Marry me, please."

She bites her bottom lip before nodding, lifting her hands to cup his face. She pushes back a piece of brown hair that has fallen into his eyes. "Yes." It's the only word she can muster, but it's enough for him.

—

Her veil is a white bandana, and her wedding dress a hospital gown. She doesn't walk down an aisle, doesn't leave her bed at all. The hospital priest is there, reading words out of a bible as he talks about the importance of marriage. She looks over at Killian, only to find him staring at her with the same love in his eyes that they always shows.

She doesn't even hear the priest tell Killian to kiss the bride, but it must have happened because his lips are on hers, and she sees the priest leave, closing the door behind him.

There's no champagne, no presents, no wedding night, and she can't help but feel sorry for Killian. This isn't how life is supposed to work. People aren't supposed to marry terminally ill patients. They're supposed to find love with someone who can be with them until they grow old. They're supposed to have families and children and grandchildren, supposed to buy a first house together and have housewarming parties.

They're not supposed to be sitting on the hard mattress of the hospital, the future no longer than a few months away, eating the turkey sandwiches that were on that night's menu, hoping that tomorrow won't be her last day.

But, as he takes her hand and squeezes it, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss, she leans her head on his shoulder, silently thanking him for not letting her leave this world alone.

—

"Hello, Mrs. Jones," Killian calls as he walks in with a bag. He drops it on her tray and she peeks inside to see two bear claws. "I thought we should have a proper first breakfast as husband and wife."

"I hardly think bear claws are considered a proper breakfast." She smiles, reaching for one of the doughnuts and stuffing it in her mouth. She melts in the bed as she chews. "How'd you get these in without the nurse seeing you?"

Killian wiggles his eyebrows at her as he moves over to sit in the vacant chair, his chair that he has sat in every day since he was discharged months ago. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She laughs, and it feels good to laugh. She takes another bite and can't help the groan that escapes her throat. "Mmm… So good. Thank you, husband."

"You're welcome, wife."

—

She shakes her head when he enters the room. She's pushing down on that spot in her belly, the one that has been in constant pain since she came to this hospital about a year ago. "It hurts," she hisses, and he's immediately by her side.

He pushes her hand away and begins massaging it in soft circles. "I hate seeing you like this, in pain."

She winces, unsure if it is because of his words or if the pain is getting too great. "I know."

"I wish it were me," he mumbles.

"I know."

He stops his movements for a moment to kiss her forehead, lingering longer than he should. He starts up again, circling the opposite way and pressing down with the perfect amount of pressure to ease the pain just a bit.

—

She's thinner now, and while he pleads for her to eat, every bite feels like it will be back up in seconds. She pushes her food away more often now, only drinking water and eating the red jell-o when he looks like he'll break if she doesn't.

—

"Please, please have a closed casket for me, okay?" she asks one day. She has wisps of hair coming back that he's playing with next to her. His fingers still and, even though her eyes are closed, she still feels him staring at her. "I don't want people seeing me like this."

It just takes too much effort for her to open her eyes right now and see his reaction.

"Alright, closed casket."

She turns her head towards him, even with her eyes closed, and let out a deep breath. "Thank you."

—

"Why do you always do that?" he shouts, and she knows it's more out of frustration for their situation than for anger at her, but it still strikes her heart anyway.

"Do what, Killian? Speak the truth? I'm dying. I shouldn't have to sugarcoat it for you." She hisses it back, and she knows she's just picking a fight because it's easier to fight with him than tip toe around the bigger issue.

Killian groans, dragging his only hand down his face. "I know, Emma. But that doesn't mean you have to say it every three minutes! I don't need the reminder!"

"Hey, you're the one who signed up for this. I didn't have a choice, you did."

"What do you want me to say, Emma. That I made a bad decision? That I shouldn't have married you? That I shouldn't have fallen in love with you?" he yells it, and then he's by her side. "It doesn't work like that, Love. You can't choose who you fall in love with."

She pushes him away from her, crossing her arms and turning her head to look out the window. It's the only reaction she can really give, she has no other options in this moment. She can't storm out of the room and slam doors like normal couples in normal fights, so she has to settle for looking away from him.

She knows it's the thing that hurts him most because he knows she has no other options.

—

They apologize over the phone that night, vowing to never fight again. She can hear the sadness in his voice, and she knows he's been crying since he left all those hours ago.

—

"I want to bring you home," he blurts out one Saturday morning. She turns her head to look at him, and his eyes are sincere.

"I haven't been out of this hospital in over 13 months, Killian. I don't think they'll let me just wander out for a quick visit to your house."

"Our house," he corrects, and Killian looks down at their combined hands, his face turning into a frown. "I've been thinking…"

"That's never good," she teases, but it's stale, so she waits for what he has to say.

He takes a deep breath and looks up at her. "Home hospice. I want you to see our home with your own eyes, not through a screen."

"I don't know…" she answers, and she sees his Adam's apple bob. "I mean, what if the doctor says I can't leave…"

"What if he says you can?"

He's too hopeful for her, but she can't say no to him. Not after how much she's put him through already, so she nods and agrees to go home with him, to a life that had so much potential if it were anyone else.

—

She leaves the next week, and she's never felt better.

—

He rubs behind his ear as he places her into the wheelchair from his beat-up car. "I know it's not much…"

"It's wonderful," she says, and it's the truth. It's not big, but it's cozy, and she pretends to be like any other couple moving into their first home together. "Care to give me the grand tour?"

He smiles as he pushes her up the makeshift ramp to the front door. "I've been waiting a long time to, Love." He kisses her temple as he opens the door.

It seems so surreal, this house that she's seen so often, yet never seen before. The vase in the corner is exactly where it's supposed to be, the TV as big as she imagined, but it all looks entirely different than when he's shown her on the screen.

He starts naming all the rooms on the first floor as he pushes her around, apologizing for the mess and telling her he'll clean it as soon as possible. She smiles, thinking of real husbands promising their real wives that, and she's glad she gets to play house, even just for a little bit.

She looks up and him and bites her lower lip. "What?" he asks, playfully.

"Show me the bedroom?" she asks, and she tries to use her most seductive voice. He smiles before scooping her up into his arms and carrying her bridal-style up the stairs.

It's as plain as she remembers it from their online chats, but it's perfect. He softly deposits her on the bed, backing up from her. She looks to the side and sees his whole dresser is filled with pictures of them, or of her, smiling at the hospital, kissing at their "wedding", and it feels like home.

She pats the empty bed beside her, and slowly, he crawls over to her and leans back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling fan. "I'm glad you're here, Emma." He turns to face her. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me, too," she says, and she leans over to kiss him, in their bed, like normal husbands and wives do.

—

She likes the hospice aide they send her, and she gets along with her quite well while Killian's at work. Her name is Mary Margaret, and she likes to thinks that if they met in a different time or place, when she wasn't sick and she wasn't taking care of her, they'd be friends. Mary Margaret tells her about her life, about her husband and her baby boy.

When she naps, she dreams of Mary Margaret's life, but with her and Killian. She dreams about a young boy with his brown hair and blue eyes, she hopes he'd have his blue eyes. She dreams about going on picnics and family reunions and play dates… She dreams about a daughter and how she's wrapped Killian around her finger before she can even walk. She dreams about going to doctor's appointments with good news, about learning of the growth of their third child, with no mentions of cancer or treatments at all.

When she wakes, she's reminded that that isn't her life, that it will never be her life, and that she never even got the chance to try.

—

They're lying in bed, looking at each other when her face grows serious. "What's wrong?" Killian asks, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight, "Does something hurt?"

She's been growing weaker by the days, and it hurts just to lift her hand up to cup his face. But she does it, because she doesn't know how much longer she has, and, god dammit, she's going to savor the moments as much as she can. "Can you promise me something?"

"Always."

She takes a deep breath, and she finally realizes how hard this is going to be. But, she's been thinking about this for a while, and she has to say it before it's too late. "I don't want you to be alone forever. Promise me you'll move on…"

"Emma…"

"I'm serious, Killian. I don't want you to be alone forever. I want you to find someone who can love you just as much as I do, who you can love just as much. And I want you to have kids, lots of kids, because you'd make a great dad, and I wasn't able to do that for you."

"But…"

She strokes the scar on his face, memorizing how it feels under the pad of her thumb. "If you love me at all, you'll promise me this."

Killian reaches his hand up to grab her hand from his face and brings it down to place on his heart. "I'll never replace you, I can't replace you."

"I need you to try."

She sees a tear fall out of his eye, and it makes this whole thing that much harder. But, he needs him to go on, to not live in the past and to not spiral out of control. She needs to know that she'll leave this earth with him being able to live.

"My heart can't take that, Emma. But I can promise you that I'll be okay."

And, even though it's not exactly what she wants to hear, it's also not what she doesn't want to hear, and so she accepts his answer.

—

He's started to take more and more time off of work to be home with her. She tells him not to – she's only going to be lying on the bed watching TV – but he says he doesn't want to miss a single moment with her.

—

She starts to sleep more, holding his hand the entire time. Mary Margaret still comes every day to give her shots of painkillers, and Killian still sits by her side. When she is awake, all she does is look at him, and feel sorry for him, and wish that she had fought harder when that nurse told her she was getting him for a roommate.

Because even if the fourteen months have been amazing, the best of her entire life, she'd never wish for him to feel this way, and she knows that it's only a matter of time.

—

She can't open her eyes anymore, it takes too much strength, even when she's awake. So she makes sure she's touching him at all times, to make sure he's still there and hasn't left. She needs to feel him.

He sings to her a lot, and his voice soothes her even more than the painkillers Mary Margaret gives her. When he finishes a song, she asks for another, and another, and he keeps singing to her until she falls asleep in his arms, and even then she still hears him continue his songs.

—

"You should rest, you sound tired," Killian says in her ear.

She shakes her head the best she can. "I don't want to go to sleep. I don't want to miss a second of you."

"I'll be right here, Emma. I promise."

"I'm afraid if I fall asleep, I won't wake up," she admits, and she feels him shift even closer to her. "I don't want… I…"

"Shh…" he whispers. "No more talking like that."

Her body can't take it any longer, and she finds herself falling asleep listening to his heartbeat.

—

She wakes to a dark room, and even though she can hear Killian's voice, she knows he's not by her anymore. She shifts the best she can, forcing herself to open her eyes and find him. She looks at the open door and seeing him pacing the upstairs hallway, talking in hushed tones to god knows who.

"No, I can't, Mr. Gold." He says, stopping right in front of the room, his back turned towards her. "I'm sorry, but my wife—no, I understand that I'm needed back at work, but she's… But…" He starts pacing again, listening to his boss talk to him on the other line. "I know that—I'll be back soon, I promise… Mr. Gold, please don't fire me, it's only for a little while longer…" But then he stops, because he turns around and sees her watching him, and he knows she's heard what he's saying. "My wife just woke up, I'll… Goodbye then, Mr. Gold." He hangs up his phone and walks over to the bed, lying down next to her. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," she says, and she knows it's much softer and weaker than he needs to hear right now. "You shouldn't have taken so much time off of work for me."

"I didn't like it there, anyway," he replies, grabbing her hand. She tries to believe him, but she doesn't. He was so animated whenever he talked about work and how much he loved his job, but she doesn't have it in her to fight. "And I would choose you over a silly job, any day, anyway."

She doesn't know what else to say, so she whispers her thanks before drifting off again.

—

The sun shining through the window wakes her up. Killian is lying next to her, their hands still laced from the night before. He looks so peaceful, like how he looked when he was in a coma and unable to wake up to the world. She lies there, staring, and somehow knows that it is going to be over soon. Her pain, his pain, their life together isn't going to be "together" much longer.

She finally accepts it, this fate of hers, and she hopes he has, too. She was broken when he came into her life, and he was just as much. But somehow, fate brought them together, and they fixed each other.

And even though she has lost this battle, that her body has betrayed her mind, soul, and heart, she feels at peace. She hopes he will, too, and that their time together isn't just a wasted year of his life.

He rolls onto his back, scrunching his eyes together as the sun finally wakes him up, too. He blinks his eyes open, and the first thing he does is look at her, and she knows it's because he's checking to see if she's still here with him.

She squeezes his hand and asks him to close the window shade, that she's tired and the bright light is distracting. He reluctantly agrees, not wanting to leave her side, and slides it closed until the only light of the room is the faint outline around the window.

He climb back into bed and turns his eyes back on hers as she says thanks, and she stares at his face, and finally into his eyes, and she thinks she's ready.

"I love you," she whispers as she closes her eyes, and she knows it's the final time she'll say it to him, she can feel it in her very soul.

He doesn't reply, or if he did, it's after she can't hear anything anymore. She feels her body sink into the mattress, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders to keep her warm, and the faint feeling of a kiss on her forehead.

And she thanks whoever is out there listening to her that the last thing she got to see in this world were his blue eyes.

* * *

 _ **Notes:**_

 _I really appreciate feedback, especially since this is a new style of writing for me._


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